Echoes Across Azeroth
by Northmen
Summary: The board is set and the pieces are moving. All across Azeroth events are taking place. Some small, some large, but all key, all important, and all contributing to the very fate of Azeroth.
1. Stirrings in the North

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Stirring_s in the North_

* * *

Luc Valonforth gazed through soft blue eyes at the dark, murky, coast below him. Sitting atop the platform of the vaunted Rock of South Shore, he breathed in the fresh salty air of the ocean and sighed. Below him, industrious fishermen and dock workers bustled about their daily lives, as fish wives managed their children and cleaned clothes at the beach. All were hard working, but all were safe and more-or-less content. For now.

Luc turned his back to the scene of life and activity before him to stare at silent dead room he occupied. The room was utterly spartan in its furnishings; much like the fortress keep itself, with only a single table and two chairs to occupy it. The rest of the room was dull black and gray stone in color, a testament of the great burning the fortress had been forced to endure during the Second War.

Suddenly there was a noise at the door, and the sound of booted feet could be heard. With a gritty screech, the room's sole thick oaken door was opened, revealing a richly garbed, pale skinned man, and two armored soldiers.

"Wait outside," instructed the thin tall man, as he took another step inside the room. The two men –guards Luc assumed- nodded and closed the door with an equally loud screech and a forbidding silence filled the room.

"Well?" asked Luc finally. "Has it been approved?"

The lord of South Shore, stared at the Alliance captain, with sharp appraising blue eyes, unwilling to answer. Instead he asked a question of his own, "How long has it been Valonforth? How long has it been since you returned from Northrend and made you way through the shadow-wracked realm of Lordaeron?"

Luc stared at the man with a mix of surprise and frustration. He knew just how long it had been. He had to. Why was he asking such a pointless question?

"Four years, Ghealden. Four years since we fled the realm of the Lich King, and yet another since arriving here in South Shore."

"And in that time has your opinion swayed in the slightest? Has your appreciation and calculation regarding the threat that is the Scourge, changed in any fashion?"

"It has changed many times Ghealden, and has been influenced by many factors. But that does not change my opinion of what must be done to stop it."

"Not even the fate of the traitor Prince Arthas?"

"Arthas's fall was of his own creation. His own failure. I, and other survivors like me, are living testament that the Scourge is not all corrupting."

"So you believe yourself immune?" asked Ghealden, "You believe that because you did not fall in Northrend you can resist the Lich Kings call here in the Eastern Kingdoms?"

"Immune? No. But of the many whom preach disservice to the Lich King cause, I believe I may preach the loudest."

"So did Arthas. And look what became of him."

Luc sighed and fixed Ghealden with a hard blue eye, "I am not Arthas. Though I may have gone along with him to Northrend, I am not him."

"I believe you," said Ghealden slowly, "But you must understand not everyone agrees. Some; some, even say you are an agent of the Scourge, and that you are only alive here and now so that you can betray us when it would be most debilitating to our efforts."

Luc's face grew hard like stone and he glared at the lord.

"Then they are fools," he retorted.

Ghealden nodded, and then withdrew a scroll from a pocket in his coat. Clearing his throat, he scratched his stubble of a beard and murmured, "By the Decree of the Kings of Stormwind and Ironforge, and the sponsorship of Narain Sunseer of the Exiled Embassy of High Elves, Thane Stormpike of the Bronzebeard Clan, King Kurdan of the Wildhammer Clan, and Lord Ghealden of South Shore, _General_ Luc Valonforth is hereby approved to lead the first stage of the Alliance reclamation of the Plaguelands!"

**

Baron Rivendare grinned silently to himself as he stared across the black ruined city of Stratholme. In the distance he could see the ruined parapets of inner Stratholme, the great city's fortress core. The Scarlet Crusaders under Saiden Dathrohan, lingered still in that center, staining the city with their life and warm running blood. It disgusted Rivendare, that these simple mortals could continue to cling to the city, infesting it like bugs.

He had tried to remove them; to purge them from the city. But likes roaches they preserved, refusing to die no matter how times he crushed them. And it was all because of one man.

Alexandros Morgraine.

The word was like a hissing curse in the death knight's mind. The so called "Ashbringer" and Highlord of the Scarlet Crusade. An infuriating thorn in the side of the Scourge, his wretched blade a bane against all the darkness and corruption he and the Lich King strove to create. The mere thought of the man sent fury rushing through the Baron's icy veins and his yellow orbs flamed maliciously as he imagined the thousand and one ways he would one day torment and corrupt the man's soul.

Soon Rivendare, he thought to himself, very soon the damnable paladin's day of reckoning would come.

"My lord," murmured a voice suddenly from the dark, "The others have gathered in the central hall and are waiting your arrival."

Baron Rivendare turned and gazed at the man prostrating himself before him. Dressed in the black signature robes of an Acolyte of the Scourge, the man's pale bony fingers could just be seen peaking through the long sleeves of his attire, his yellow nails curved and lengthened like talons.

"Thank you Achemus," he replied cooly, "Please inform them that I shall be arriving shortly."

Achemus nodded quickly, rising fast as he hurried to dispatch his orders, and the Baron caught only a slight hint of white hair and glinting pale orbs before he was gone.

The death knight smiled as the acolyte ran. Achemus was both eager and capable, and in Rivendare's opinion, perhaps the most promising of those still-human students among the Cult of the Damned. He would go far, the Baron was sure, provided he didn't do something stupid like angering him. Though he was not proud of it, Rivendare knew he had a temper, and though he had thus far had no cause to direct his rage at the young acolyte, the boy was his fourth assistant, and those previous in his position had not died due to mortal hands.

Standing, he brushed off the gathering dust on his black armor, and slowly worked the greaves of the mail as he walked. The halls were lit dimly to for the still living servants, but what little light there was seemed to dim and shy away as the undead lord walked by, skulking in fear of his mere presence.

Approaching a heavy double oak door, Rivendare whispered inaudibly, sending out a psychic command to the two hulking skeletons on either side of the entryway.

Creaking as they moved, the two undead latched unto the handles of the door, swinging it open soundlessly, revealing a great hall with but a single set of furniture. Four stone chairs, and a heavy round table in which a single green glowing candle sat in the center.

Walking inside, Rivendare took the most innate of the chairs, and made a signal with his hand. At the motion, three more figures emerged from the shadows. One, a slim form clad in a black silk robe, a cowl drawn over its face. Another, a stout figure garbed from head to toe in heavy grey mail, only red glowing eyes visible through the helm. The third, a tall golden haired man, with black armor matching Rivendares own, the blade of a lordaeron knight attached to his hip.

"Lady Blaumeux, Thane Korth'azz; Sir Zeliek. It has been some time. Come sit, sit, we have _much _to discuss. "

**

Korfax roared as he cleaved through the two undead ghouls, splitting their corpses in two, showering the ground in black blood.

"Never do learn do they?" he grumbled jokingly to the nearest Argent Dawn trooper, who in turn smiled weakly; his own eyes wide as saucers as he gazed at the clump of corpses before him.

"I see your title of Champion is well earned," murmured an approaching woman.

Korfax shrugged in response, resting his axe on his shoulder, as he examined her. Tall, slim, with shoulder length black hair and dressed in the complete armor set of a paladin of the crusade, Commander Marjhan was a sight to behold.

"This-" he grunted as he crushed a skeletal skull with his boot, "Is nothing. These undead should just feel fortunate that Tyrosus has placed your guardianship above all else. If it had been otherwise, I would have chased this marauding band to the walls of Stratholme and back!"

Marjhan response was a wry half-smile, caught as she was between the urge to berate the boastful man for his pride, and her belief that he meant every word he had stated.

"Korfax!" called out a blood stained soldier on horseback, "Our warriors have routed the last of the undead. We may proceed at any moment."

"Very well!" cried Korfax, grabbing for the reigns of his great mount, "As delightful as this little interlude has been, I do believe Maxwell was rather serious in his desire to speak to this woman as quickly as possible. Ride hard and fast lads, I want to be within the protection of Light Hopes wards well before nightfall."

There was a clatter of hooves, and then the company of a hundred or so odd warriors, was off, thundering down the half paved road toward Lights Hope Chapel. The Emissary from the Scarlet Crusade in tow.

* * *

_A/N: A short chapter to be sure. But hopefully enough to grabs ones attention. The next chapter will be FAR longer but I really felt a setting of the general stage would be far more __fortuitous_t than getting into the beefy dialogue right off the bat. In case one was wondering, "The Rock of Southshore", is a name created by me to detail the squat keep that stands in the center of South Shore. Unlike WoW -which is limited by the game- the South Shore in this story is quite large, more on-par with a small bustling port-city then a simple street with some buildings on the side. In case you are also wondering who Luc Valonforth is, you may recall the unammed captain from Warcraft: Reign of Chaos who acts as Arthas second in leading the Alliance forces chasing Mal'ganis to Northrend. Luc is the name given to said captain via WoTLK. Though nothing too inappropriate took place in this chapter, the story has been rated M for future sexual content, violence, and mild language. 


	2. A Meeting in the Dark

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_A Meeting in the Dark_

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Baron Rivendare grinned as he surveyed his three lieutenants and comrades in arms.

First, was Lady Blaumeux, the Dark Lady of the Scourge, a title to which she clung to jealously, and which caused no small enmity toward the Banshee Queen Sylvanas, who dared claim the same title. Just like the traitorous elf-bitch, and the rest of the occupants in the room, the pale skinned sorceress had managed to retain much more of her former human guise, and the Baron leered appreciatively at the soft curves present through the soft midnight silk of her robe. Of moderate height and build, she was –despite appearances- perhaps the deadliest of the three and the one to whom Rivendare, if not feared, then was most wary of. Unlike her cohorts, Blaumeux practiced not necromancy, but dark sorcery, the kind of which that mystified even the veteran death knight. Though incapable of raising the dead, with a wave of her hand she could strip the flesh from the bones of her foes, and summon blasts of dark fire with a mere thought.

The second was Kor'thazz, former Thane of the Wildhammer Clan, and the smallest of the four. Adorned in the very armor in which he was slain, he refused all suits of Scourge origin, instead keeping to the grey-steel mail of his former life. Giving some proof to Rivendare's belief that necromancy worked best with the humans to which it was designed to corrupt and with the orcs to which it was originally mastered, the Thane was silent in most cases, speaking only if called upon, and utterly unemotional in every situation. Unlike Rivendare, who preferred to fight mounted; Kor'thazz's shadowy steed was often used for transportation only, disappearing into a thin wisp of wind, as soon as the undead dwarf entered combat.

The third, and final, member was Sir Zeliek. By all appearances it was to him that Rivendare bore most resemblance, both clad in the armor of a death knight, bearing the sword of a former paladin, preferring to fight with mount and blade like the knights of old Lordaeron. He was also the man whom, of the three, Rivendare disliked the most. For Sir Zeliek had a very unique, and infinitely insufferable ability. He could still wield the Light.

So, filled with conviction when slain by Kel'tuzad following the events at Mt. Hyjal, the archlich had been forced to weave the man's powers with that of the necromancers own, forging him into a death knight of the most peculiar kind. And it had not left the man's psyche unaffected, for though he willing served in the slaughter of innocents, he often became sentimental, allowing his opponents to duel him one on one in battle in exchange for freedom. Of course, none had come close to besting him, but it had become almost a habit of those surviving humans to sacrifice one from their fold to Zeliek, while the women and children and others escaped during the stand-off.

"Indeed, Baron," sauntered Blaumeux, her tone a mixture of mockery and flirt, "It has been _far _too long."

Her dark red black eyes bored into Rivendares own, and despite himself, Rivendare was forced to fight down the urge to shift uncomfortably. There was something – unsettling about those eyes.

"I don't know," said Zeliek good naturedly, "I was rather having fun hunting down those knights in Gilneas. They tend to put up a far better fight then the wayward village "champion" here in Lordaeron."

Kor'thazz simply sat silent.

Rivendare shook his head, "Business before pleasure Zeliek." He turned to face Blauemeux, "Though I must note a certain pleasure in seeing your lovely visage again."

He flashed a toothy smile as he stared at the sorceress, making it clear that he held no fear of her.

"Fair enough," replied Zeliek either missing or ignoring the exchange, "And speaking in the interest of speeding up business. Perhaps, I should be the first to make my report?"

Rivendare nodded his consent; in truth he was most interested in the goings and comings of the lands farther south, and Gilneas in particular.

Zeliek nodded and withdrew a map from somewhere in his armor placing it out on the table for all to see, "The land of Gilneas is, too put it lightly, a very dark place right now."

Zeliek paused for a moment to see if any would laugh at his pun. When naught by dreadful silence greeted him he hurried quickly along. "Worgen have somehow managed to cross over Greymane's Wall. How, even I can't imagine, as we've been trying to find a way for months and have yet to succeed. They've begun infesting the local forests, and have been successfully terrorizing the many common-folk there. Still, though the renowned Black Army of Gilneas seems rather incompetent in the deep thickets of their realm, they continue to patrol the roads in force, and any group of Worgen thus far willing to strike past their natural havens has met a gruesome death."

He indicated the areas on the map where the Worgen had been found, marked as they were by a thin wolf skull. Rivendare, meanwhile, mulled over the information. Contrary to popular belief, the Worgen were not of the Scourges make, instead a form of bestial lycan summoned through forbidden arts by the former Kirin Tor Archmage Arugal. Cunning far beyond what their wild forms would indicate, it seemed no place was secure from their packs, and though they preferred live flesh, numerous undead patrols had been found ravaged by tooth and claw across Lordaeron, indicating that they held no fear of undeath.

"While I must assume that most of central Gilneas is secure, the coastline is an utter disaster. As you know, most of the Gilneas fleet was destroyed by a Scourge fleet –which was in turn destroyed. King Greymane has pulled what remains of the fleet and set it to guard the trade route of their capital, a fitting prioritization considering, but one that has left many of the coastal villages without any means of protection. "

He indicated the vulnerable areas of coastline on the map, "This has allowed many raiding ships, including my own, to slip unto Gilneas soil. We cannot proceed too far inland, for Genn is not a total fool, and he has his army out in force setting up check points and the like. But, provided we remain close to shore, we are generally capable of moving about at will, and without much concern."

"Are you insinuating," hissed Blaumeux, "That the entire Gilneas shore is open to naval invasion? That an army could march ashore _completely_ unopposed?"

"No, not completely. Kul'tiras has stepped up to replace the ships lost by Gilneas, likely more out of concern of debilitating our efforts then any form of friendship toward the country itself. But their fleet, while still one of the largest in existence, is a mere ghost of its former strength. The ships patrolling look for a sizable invasion, not tiny landing craft."

"But it would be possible," reinstituted Blaumeux, "To launch a successful invasion by sea?"

"Absolutely. But frankly it is not the landing that concerns me, the Black Knights of Gilneas are hardly what they are cracked up to be; but their forces are disciplined and well equipped. In fact, I'd say they would be much like the armies of Lordaeron that we'd have faced, had the Cult of the Damned through Kel'tuzad genius –and your own Rivendare- not so completely crippled the nation."

"What do you suggest then Zeliek?" asked Rivendare ignoring the death knight's praise.

Zeliek leaned back shrugging, teasing a golden lock of hair on his head, "Let the nation destroy itself. Greymane has thus far seemed more than willing to stand-by and allow his nation to die a slow painful death. I see no reason to stop him from proceeding as such."

Rivendare nodded, sensing the wisdom in Zeliek's words and hating him for it. It was so much easier to imagine the light haired death knight as a simpering chivalrous fool, but the truth was that he was at this table for a reason, and he knew much in the way of dark subtle tact.

Zeliek's words were met with similar nods from the others and Zeliek withdrew his map to signify that his report was complete.

"More exact details can be provided later Zeliek, but for now, good work."

Rivendare turned to face the dwarf lord, "And you Thane Kor'thazz? What news do you bring from the east?"

The undead warrior cleared his throat before he spoke, clearly attempting to imitate the sound of grinding stones. "I bring news from our efforts against Ty'rs Hand. The Scarlet Crusade has the city decently fortified and it can be assumed that any direct assault would require extensive efforts."

Rivendare grimaced slightly at the death knight's use of the term "fortified". Though obviously unimpressive to dwarfkind, Tyr's was a veritable vanguard by human standards.

"Their forces under General Abbendis are effective. By sending out hard hitting and heavy patrols versus a sizable mass, and rotating them at random but consistent intervals, they have kept up significant pressure on our forces while suffering few casualties themselves. When any significant numbers are brought to bear, they simply retreat back into the city, and we do not have the troops necessary to wage a constant siege."

The dwarf's voice was flat and matter-a-fact, utterly without opinion. "Furthermore, troops from the Argent Dawn have pushed into the area and occupied the former Silverlight Church. It is the second largest chapel in Lordaeron, overruled only by Alonsus Chapel in Stratholme. They have forged mostly south, securing roads and villages in the general direction of Tyr's Hand."

"Obviously an attempt by the fools to unite their forces," interjected Blaumeux.

The Scourge Thane was silent as she spoke but immediately resumed as if she hadn't whispered a word, "I have ordered our remaining forces to Corins Crossing, and reinforced the area with undead from Darrowshire and the Goremaw in the blighted fields.

"Wait a moment!" interrupted Blaumeux again, "Didn't we just agree that this is an attempt to unite their forces? How can you pull back and allow them to coordinate?"

"Blaumeux has a point," noted Zeliek, "I know you dwarves like to dig into your holes but the Scourge has thrived on our ability to remain a step ahead of our enemies, dividing their forces."

The Baron was silent as Kor'thazz turned to address the pair. He had already figured out the dwarf's logic, and he silently applauded his thinking.

"The enemy can unite as much as they want. They cannot breach Corins Crossing. The attempt would cost thousands of lives and the living cannot replace their dead. They must depend on decisive victory. Something we have been giving them plenty of in the last few weeks," at this point Rivendare could almost strain to hear a thread of annoyance in his tone, "Their forces are trapped now, inert and useless, it doesn't matter what they do."

Zeliek gave an appreciative laugh and might have attempted to slap the dwarf on the back had the thanes red eyed stare not so quickly disenchanted him of the idea. Blaumeux, for her part, merely sizzled quietly in rage as she was shown up by the dwarf.

"Excellent thinking as always Kor'thazz," murmured Rivendare quickly, hoping to stem an outburst from the black sorceress, "And you Dark Lady?" He added in the meaningless title in hopes of calming her, "What information have you for us?"

The female Rider took a few moments to compose herself before softly hissing, "I bring word from the west."

"Ah, the west," sighed Rivendare in sojourn.

Not that the news thus far had been disheartening –far from it, for it merely confirmed how futile the efforts of the humans were- but the west was always malicious tale unto itself. With only the isolated Scarlet settlements of Hearthglen and Mardenholde located in the far west, the land was completely under the domain of the Scourge and the site of a significant amount of their plots. From the four great plague cauldrons constantly corrupting the land and raising the dead, to Sorrow Hill; the site of Lich Kings great victory over Uther Lightbringer, to the undead city of Andorhal, and the underground necromancer fortress of Scholomance, the land was a literal nightmare on Azeroth.

"Everything proceeds as planned," she whispered as if daring anyone to disagree with the statement, "Araj continues his work in Andorhal, raising undead through the use of the great plague cauldrons, and has already begun to pressure the Scarlet Crusade to the northwest. As we speak a large force under the command of Captain Dargol leads a force of numerous thousand toward Hearthglen. It will only be a matter of time before they are obliterated completely."

She stopped for a moment then before continuing almost hesitantly, "We have had some…strange… rumors arising from Caer Darrow. It appears many of our loyal subjects been disappearing there and despite all attempts, no cause has yet to be found regarding the source."  
Rivendare grimaced slightly. Was it too much to ask that he receive nothing but good news? "How many undead?"

"Dozens, possibly a hundred in all."

Rivendare nearly burst out in laughter at her response. Perhaps a hundred? The Scourge numbered in the tens of thousands strong! What were a few hundred lost zombies to them? Still, it was probably wise to not tempt the humor of the woman, considering her current state.

"That's fine. As long as it is no more than that. Now, is that all you have to report?"

Blaumeux bristled. Of course that wasn't all she had!

"There is the matter of my…project in Scholomance."

"Project?" asked Rivendare sharply. He was not aware of this.

Blaumeux smiled beneath her cowl, "Oh yes. A very important one if I do say so myself."

"Do not feel bad Baron," her voice was sultry now, a tone she only took when she knew she had the upper hand, "Only Kel'tuzad and my cohort were ever informed."

"And what, darkness tell, was this experiment?" asked the Baron through gritted teeth. "And your vaunted 'cohort'?"

"My assistant was Master Ghandling."

Master Ghandling of the Necromancers. It was he who led the human cultists and apprentice necromancers in Scholomance. Now half-mummified, he had been a discovery of Kel'tuzads back when the archlich himself had still been mortal. A prodigy-child in Hillsbarad, Ghandling was now perhaps the most powerful mortal in the Scourge.

"If you will permit me," asked Blaumeux, "I'd like to invite another guest into our hall."  
Zeliek and Kor'thazz curiosity were obviously piqued and they looked for Rivendare to grant consent. By Rivendare's command this meeting room was to only hold the Riders, and allowed access to no other. It was a mix of practically and formality, though mostly the latter. There was no real harm in breaking it, though it was a slight to the death knight leader.

Very well, thought Rivendare, we shall play your game Blaumeux.

"Of course, of course," replied Rivendare, with a flippant twist of his hand.

Blaumeux gave a mocking bow then and turned. Obviously sending out a silent command there was a momentary rustle at the door. After a moment it burst open revealing a great iron figure. It was tall, nearly nine feet, almost the height of an abomination though far less so in width. The metal was of the dark blue persuasion, with a horned helmet that curled to the side and then forward as if met for goring. The things face was helmeted with only a thin dotted visor.

"An automaton?" gasped Zeliek questioningly.

Blaumeux almost giggled as she removed the creature's gauntlet revealing soft flesh beneath. Soft _pink _flesh.

"It's alive?" demanded Rivendare, "It's human?"

"Impossible," objected Zeliek, "Humans do not grow to such a size."

Blaumeux let out a small laugh, "They do when they've been enchanted with sorcery and necromantic magic's."

"Let me explain," she continued, "Necromancy, like every magic, is a matter of energy. The energy needed to raise the dead, the degree unto which they are raised, and of course, their ability to maintain that undead. Generally, the raising and maintaining of undead in any great number, leaves the quality or degree to which they are raised in question."

"Even creatures such as abominations," she continued, "Must be hand-crafted, taken together by many different lesser undead, and sewn together to create a greater creature."

"Beings like us are one in a thousand, especially chosen due to our strengths and skills. The energy needed for beings like us simply too great to commit to on a large scale."

"But!" Blaumeux raised her hand now, "What if the first and last could be skipped? If the raising and the maintaining of undeath was unneeded?"

She motioned to the armored giant, "What if the subject was alive?"

"It was really Kel'tuzads idea. Turning the living into undead via plagued grain. Thousands upon thousands of people turned into flesh eating ghouls and zombies."

"But that's the point. They were dead," said Zeliek, "The power of raising was converted to the energy of conversion and then ingested manually. We still end up having to domineer their minds and maintain their bodies. It started the process but was hardly a formula meant to last forever."

"Indeed. And what I speak of is hardly a new plague. Instead, it's an adaptation of the Lich Kings original will. The conversion of the living to the dead, but, in this case only a small fraction."

She paused for effect and then finished, "Namely the brain."

"You can restrict the plague to a single piece of the body?" asked Kor'thazz stunned, the revelation breaking even his sordid silence.

"Well," explained Blaumeux, "I won't say the method was easy, nor truly applicable to the masses. But yes, in practice we have proven it possible. It's simply a matter of refining the process."

"So this thing is –in realistic terms if not technical- dead?" asked Rivendare.

Blaumeux nodded, her eyes dark eyes rippling, "Indeed. As you know controlling the dead is really only an issue when it is done by the thousands in which we must control them. But with these we would not require such an extensive will. When enhanced by my black magic –magic's that would ravage the weaker frame of skeletons or ragged ghouls- a dozen can accomplish what it would take a hundred to do."

Rivendare laughed then. It was perfect. Absolutely perfect! Credit when credit is due, he thought to himself. Rising to his feet he applauded and the action was quickly taken up by the others at the table.  
"You truly are the Dark Lady of the Scourge Blaumeux," commended Rivendare, "And make sure to pass on my wholesome regards to Master Ghandling for his assistance."

Blaumeux gave a playful curtsy and nodded, "Your praise is much appreciated."

With that she took her seat, and all eyes turned to Rivendare.

Rivendare nodded then, standing in turn, "Well, I must say it will be difficult to top our esteemed death knight's experiment."

He gave another deferential nod toward Blaumeux.

"But I do have some news," he grinned, "Something that I think you will find _most_ interesting."

"Kel'tuzad has returned from Northrend."

* * *

A/N: Shorter then I had originally intended though it was eleven pages. I felt as if the last four pages were more tacked on to the current theme so I've gone ahead and rolled them into the next chapter. If you are interested in reading more drop a review! :D


	3. Southern Conversation

* * *

_Southern Conversation_

* * *

Nareyin Sunseer should have been content. He should have been happy.

Everything he had worked and striven for was coming to a head, in the most fortunate way imaginable.

When the "Exiled" Embassy had first settled in Stormwind it had been a hostile territory. The people of Stormwind were jealous of the elves wealth, the House Nobles saw them as objects to be manipulated, and the King of Stormwind viewed them with distrust and suspicion. Their objective had been to carve a new home for themselves and convince the leaders in Stormwind to launch an expedition to reclaim Quel'thalas from the Scourge. A goal that seemed utterly out of reach.

How dire it had seemed then. The King and the House Nobles locked in a political stale-mate, corruption and division abound; all more concerned with the Horde across the ocean than the shadows in the north. Defias running rampant across the land, poisoning the mind of the people, countless trolls seeping through the Stormwind territory in Stranglethorn intent on pillaging and rape.

Yet, they had persevered. His kindred had been "convinced" to be charitable with their wealth and coin, and their warriors had helped aid the sapped Stormwind garrison in Southern Elwynn against Trolls striking from Stranglethorn. On a personal level Nareyin himself had found friends among members of the House Nobles, chiefly Lord Blackwater and Lord Barret. And perhaps most beneficial, he now shared, if not friendship, great mutual trust and respect with King Varian Wrynn.

And these facts were not merely pen on paper. Elves were finally seen –if not as citizen- then not as invaders by the people of Stormwind. Exiled Embassy policy held more sway than ever and the Master Ambassadorial now truly possessed the authority of an honorary Councilor of the House Nobles.

Most importantly they were capable of using their political capital to push through the proposal set forth by Luc Valonforth to begin plans to seize the North from the Scourge.

That had been the crowning moment of all their endeavors. Every mission and every success was all merely preamble to retaking their homeland from the undead and Arthas. Now the process had begun, the dice had rolled in the elves favor, and the very real idea of seeing home again fluttered in Narain's chest.

And that was the problem. Despite, everything he had done, everything his people had done, in the end, the future of their efforts lay not in their hands, but in that of former human captain.

It wasn't that he thought he thought Luc Valonforth was the wrong man for the job. Quite the contrary, he was quite impressed by the man's record of service, and considered him a far better choice than the handful of regional commanders in Stormwind he would have had to have chosen from before the captains arrival in South Shore.

But the old soldier from the Troll Wars still burned in him, demanding he take up the sword and lead an army to liberate Quel'thalas himself. He knew it was ridicules, if every elf in the land were a seasoned warrior they still wouldn't have the troops necessary to take back their homeland, and Nareyin had been a foot soldier, not a general. But still.

Nareyin shook his head and smiled bitterly. Still, their fate rested in the hands of humans. As ungrateful as they were for the gift, fate was still the humans to decide.

"Nareyin!" shrieked a high-pitched female voice, "Are you done brooding yet or are you going to come down and eat breakfast?"

Nareyin response was a harsh loud hiss, "I'll come down when I feel like it Katrana! And for your information, I WASN'T BROODING!"

"So what exactly do you call sitting at your desk, staring out a window, into the pouring rain for eight hours straight without food or drink? Fun? Hm. I'd almost believe that of you," came the biting reply from downstairs.

Nareyin cursed and lurched to his feet. Katrana was his maid! His servant! Where did she get off speaking to him like this?

"I'll stay up here as long as I damn well please!" replied Nareyin, firmly, as if that decided the matter.

"Well then," came a new mocking voice from the base of the stairwell, "I hope you feel like coming down rather quickly Lord Sunseer. I'd hate to tarry here for long, what with my wife baking a fresh cherry pie back at home, and there really was a matter I wanted to discuss with you."

Nareyin stopped cold.

"Lord…Barret?"

"The one and only," laughed the mirthful human.

Nareyin screamed silently, pulling at his white silver hair in quiet distress, his eyes screwed together.

Why the devil hadn't Katrana told him he was here?

Well, replied a small voice in Narain's head, you kind of already know the answer to that.

Because the bloody woman loves to embarrass me that's why!

Nareyin opened his eyes, pausing a moment to consider himself in the nearby mirror. Tall with broad shoulders, he was quite lean, though relatively youthful in appearance, seeming only in his mid thirties by human standards; yet in fact being over two hundred summers in age. His dark blue eyes stared at him through somewhat sallow sockets, taking in his otherwise handsome pale face.

His silver gold robes were held tightly against him, exaggerating his chest, and held together with buttons and white roped sash. Two sapphire gems adorned his left hand.

"Good enough," he thought as he moved to glide downstairs

As he descended, Nareyin attempted to gather what pride he could about himself, and he gazed over the visitor and maid appraisingly.

Katrana stood in the corner, her hands on her thin dainty hips, a smirk painted plainly across her pretty face. Her amber eyes were alight with victory over her employer, her hands wrapped lightly around a wooden spoon. She smiled she let the spoon down, and began to tie a band across her forehead, knotting it on the side, making her hair heavy in the front.

Lord Barret sat in a nearby sofa, his back slightly stooped, hair gray and thinning across his unusually tanned brow. He was smiling mischievously, his blue eyes twinkling. Patting down his dark green coat, he rose and held out his hand to the elf ambassador.

"Evening my good friend," he said with only a hint of playfulness.

"Evening, Lord Barret. To what do I owe this humiliation?" asked Nareyin stiffly.

Barret laughed then, the richness of the sound belaying his age, "Hardly Nareyin. Why, Besse bullies me just as much as your Katrana here, and she does it in front of everyone. Including the king himself!"

Nareyin smiled as he thought of Lady Barret, the homely wife of Lord Barret, and the best cookin the Royal Court of Stormwind. She was one of the few people who had shown genuine kindness to Nareyin early on in his arrival, and he found that her candor advice could often be as helpful as Barret's political counsel.

"And how is Besse doing?" asked Nareyin.

"Quite well, quite well. She's a bit put out by all this rain we've been having, but otherwise is keeping in good spirits."

Katrana came over then holding a tray of biscuits and a steaming pot of tea. Setting the tray down, she poured a cup for Lord Barret, who accepted it with a gracious thanks. Nareyin accepted his own cup with a cold glare, still yet unwilling to exchange niceties with his servant.

"So then," began Nareyin as he took a seat next to the human, "You come on business I assume?"

"Indeed," replied Barret, his rosy tone taking a dourer note, "I have a bit of news from Lord Blackwater. Nothing concrete mind you, but unsettling nonetheless."

"It appears our victory over in passing the Reclamation Expedition was not as absolute as we once thought."

Ice instantly scoured Narain's vein, "What do you mean?" he asked attempting to keep an outward calm.

"It appears as if relationships between Kul'tiras and Ogrimmar are beginning to encounter trouble. Though Jaina has managed to smooth over much of the hostilities between the two nations, there is developing friction between them."

Nareyin relaxed slightly, "But, what does that really have to do with the expedition north? Barring all out war, it really doesn't affect our cause."

"It does," explained Lord Barret, "When the other House Nobles begin to use this as an excuse to horde their stores in preparation for what could become a very messy war. It does when the Captain-Admiral, who swore to ship the supplies needed for Valenforths army, devotes half his fleet to patrolling the eastern Kul'Tiras sea-border. Thus increasing his expenses threefold. It matters when King Varian orders resources once devoted to the expedition to the cause of making post-Orcsea War garrisons in Kul-Tiras battle ready again."

Nareyin was silent for a long moment as he digested the man's news.

"You think Varian will listen to the other House Nobleman don't you?" he asked quietly after a moment.

"I think that in any given situation, King Varian is not simply a good man, but the _best_ man, for making decisions. But that when orc's are involved even his bright vision of the world can become clouded."

"Can things really be this bad? I've heard nothing."

"As I said, this is mostly just talk. But the talk is quickly devolving into action, on their side as well as ours. People have begun to prepare for the worst.

"I've always believed those who prepare for the worst, simply ask for it," replied Nareyin.

"And in this case you may be right. But, as I said, we must proceed cautiously. The other House Nobles will attempt –due to honest worry or honest greed- to devote resources once planned for the north to the preparation of a possible war in the west. We must prepare arguments and statements against this."

Nareyin nodded, "I'm sure Blackwater has already prepared such statements."

Lord Barret smirked slightly, "As always, Blackwater is prepared. But it will require the attentions of us all to ensure that we lose nothing out of this fright. I'm sure it will pass in time, but for now, let's concentrate our efforts."

The elf lord sighed again then, his gaze appreciative, "What would I do without you Barret?"

"Not much," came the human's warm reply as he took another sip of tea, "Not much at all."

* * *

_A/N:_ And so another chapter is born. This is a bit short but I felt it might be better to do a quick update now rather than waiting for a mega update. As it stands the next update will once again be considerably longer than the prior. Also for clarification "Orcsea War" is simply a made up name for the Kul'tiras invasion of Durotar. I couldn't recall an actual name for the war and it seemed as if every conflict should have a condensed form of recognition so I -in my infinite wit- came up with this dull and unimaginative name. Also, for those of you who noted the term 'Southern Elwynn' know that I've rolled Duskwood -which is the exact same forested area seperated by a small stream- into Elwynn to form a North and South Elwynn. Please review if you enjoy this story or even have criticism for it. I need to know what you guys think!


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